


Forced Rhymes

by darthswift13



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom/sub, Epistolary, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Miscommunication, Office Sex, Professor Snoke is emotionally abusive towards Ben, References to Childhood Abandonment, Rivals to Lovers, Social Media AU, Textfic, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27081097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthswift13/pseuds/darthswift13
Summary: Professor Solo is a new adjunct professor in the business department who is forced to share an office with English TA Rey Johnson, who is completing an MFA in creative writing. He thinks her degree is impractical and stupid, and Rey can’t stand the smug and condescending Professor Solo.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Moodboard by the amazing [Lena!](http://twitter.com/bensoloswhore)

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**Our favorite idiots**

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**Professor Snoke, The Chair of the Business Dept. and Professor Holdo, Rey’s thesis advisor**

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**Rey's Friends**

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	2. Chapter 2

**The next morning, Rey checks her mailbox in the English department, and she finds a letter...**

**And, of course, she reads the literary magazine...**

> **starry eyes sparking up my darkest night**
> 
> **By Benjamin Solo**
> 
> _For Rey_
> 
> I lived in comfortable darkness
> 
> My safe hideaway
> 
> ‘Til you smiled at me
> 
> And for the first time
> 
> I saw the light of day
> 
> I don’t think you ever knew
> 
> But I loved you almost right away
> 
> You never saw
> 
> My lingering glances
> 
> The tears that prickled in my eyes
> 
> The ache in my chest
> 
> From wanting something I couldn’t have
> 
> From needing something so desperately
> 
> That I didn’t even have the right to want
> 
> Echoes of you linger everywhere, even now
> 
> The scarf you left on your desk that smells like you
> 
> The _tap-tap-tap_ of a pencil that I can still hear 
> 
> Ringing in my ears 
> 
> Long after you’ve gone
> 
> I can never forget
> 
> English breakfast tea with sugar and cream
> 
> Wintermint gum kisses
> 
> The sound of you singing your favorite songs
> 
> When you texted me at 2 a.m. 
> 
> I never wanted that picket-fence life
> 
> ‘Til you made me feel brand new
> 
> I hate doing dishes but I’d love doing them with you
> 
> And I want your rainy Sunday afternoons
> 
> **  
>   
>  **
> 
> _Author’s note: The title of this poem is borrowed from the song “Call It What You Want” by Taylor Swift_ _© 2017. The author hopes the person to whom this is dedicated notices this._
> 
> * * *

**Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night** ♥

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When Ben arrives to unlock the office, Rey is already waiting for him. She smiles when she sees him, and all his pain from these last two months without her washes away in an instant. He would have done anything to see her smile again. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. 

Rey notices that he’s not dressed in his typical three piece suit, just a pair of black jeans and a simple black sweater. 

She likes this Ben. He seems softer and more approachable in his plain black sweater; he seems more like himself and less like he’s putting on a façade to keep up the charade of being some haughty and emotionless business mogul. Those ostentatious suits were just a mask he wore, a cold veneer to keep the world away. 

He looks less like the condescending Professor Solo or the cold-hearted CEO, and more like the man who writes poems for the woman he loves in hand drawn calligraphy. 

In his black sweater and jeans, he’s just _Ben_. And she’s never loved him more. 

Once he unlocks the door, Ben tentatively reaches out his hand and Rey takes it without a moment’s hesitation. 

When they enter the office, Rey takes a seat on top of Ben’s desk and Ben stands in front of her. Their foreheads meet. 

“I have many fond memories involving this desk,” Rey jokes, but she’s sniffling slightly as she chuckles, and Ben realizes she’s crying.

“Why are you crying, Rey?” he murmurs, brushing his hand against her cheek.

She pulls away and tries to wipe away her tears, but her efforts are in vain as they continue to pour from her eyes.

“Sorry, sorry—“ she stammers. “I’m just...overwhelmed.” 

She laughs a little as she sniffs and continues to try to wipe away her tears. 

“ _God_ , what am I going to do with you, Benjamin Solo? I can’t pretend there’s not a part of me that’s still mad at you, Ben, I — I have a hard enough time trusting people as it is and you absolutely broke my heart when you said what you said to me, even if you didn’t really mean it.”

Ben’s brow furrows and his dark eyes are tinged with despair as he swallows hard, like he’s suppressing tears of his own. 

“It was hard enough for me to admit that I had feelings for you at all. And I tried so hard to shove them down and push them away. And even now, my instinct is to do just that. But, I just can’t anymore because — because — _God_ , Ben. I — I just— I love you _._ I love you so much that it’s killing me, and I can’t bear to lose you again.”

And then she does the only thing she can do at this moment: she takes his face in her hands and she kisses him, but it’s so different from the first time she kissed him. For one, she knows exactly why she’s kissing him this time; before her urge to kiss him came from a bizarre swell of mixed-up suppressed feelings mixed with passion and tension that finally reached a fever pitch. 

This time, she knows she is kissing him because she loves him, and that’s the only thought that is running through her mind as his lips and his tongue so deliciously and electrically mingle with her own. She loves him so much she can feel it in her bones; her love for him is unequivocal, like it’s the only truth she’s ever known. 

He still smells like mahogany and sandalwood and expensive aftershave and his hair is still as silky as the first time her fingers coarsed through it, but her touch is so much gentler now, as is his. His hands feel so soft and gentle and affectionate as he rubs gentle circles around the nape of her neck, and she wants to drown in his touch forever.

He pulls away slightly, and there’s intensity and resolve in his eyes. 

“I love you, too, Rey,” he tells her.

She smirks.

“I know.”

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**Rey is currently listening to:**

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	3. Chapter 3

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	4. Chapter 4

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**Rose texts Kaydel**

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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning** : emotional abuse and manipulation in the conversation between Snoke and Ben

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Rey is deep in concentration, tapping her pencil against the desk as she stares at her laptop screen, brow furrowing. She bites her lip and twirls a strand of hair that has fallen out of the haphazard bun on top of her head. 

_Tap tap tap tap._

She isn’t even aware that she’s doing it.

Professor Solo, on the other hand, is entirely _too_ aware of the _tap-tap-tap-tap_ that burrows into his ears for hours on end everyday. 

And he’s quite sick of it. He sighs, exasperated, and swivels his desk chair around to face her.

“Miss Johnson, can you _please_ stop tapping that _goddamn pencil_ of yours,” he snaps.

Rey is unfazed, her eyes still glued to her laptop screen.

“I am ignoring you, Professor Solo,” she informs him flatly as she hits the Enter key a bit too forcefully. 

“Well, you just spoke to me, so you aren’t really ignoring me, are you, then, Miss Johnson?” he retorts.

“Mmm, the thing is, I _really_ am, though, professor,” she replies, her gaze still firmly fixed on her computer.

_Tap tap tap tap._

“ _Miss Johnson,_ ” he hisses through gritted teeth.

She turns to face him, pencil still tapping away. She wears a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Oh, does that _bother_ you, professor?” she asks, tilting her head as she continues to tap, looking him dead in the eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Miss Johnson. You are impossible, and I am leaving now,” he tells her as he shoves his papers into his briefcase.

She shrugs and turns back to her laptop.

“And not a moment too soon,” she remarks. 

She hears him slamming the door forcefully on his way out. 

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	6. Chapter 6

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He could make an itemized list of all the things he can’t stand about her.

The way she taps her pencil and chews on the eraser. The way she always listens to music too loudly and sometimes softly and absentmindedly sings along. He _especially_ hates how pretty her voice sounds when she does this, and the inexplicable warmth he feels in his chest when he hears her voice softly, gently singing those stupid Taylor Swift songs. He does not like Taylor Swift songs. And he cannot stand the fact that he likes it when _she_ is singing stupid Taylor Swift songs.

He hates how she adorably scrunches up her freckled nose when she is concentrating very hard. He hates the way her perfume, all honey-vanilla-sweet, floods his senses whenever she enters the room. The incessant _tap-tap-tap_ of that bright pink mechanical pencil. The smack and pop of wintermint gum. The way she leaves her papers spread out everywhere, including on the floor, and never bothers to pick them up. The way she never finishes her tea before it gets cold, and the annoying beeps of the microwave whenever she goes to heat it up. He has half a mind to throw that goddamned microwave out the window.

But, he knows drinking tea helps her focus on her writing. Part of him wants to know what her story is about, but if he asks, she’ll think he cares. Which he doesn’t, of course.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap_. The sound gets stuck in his ears.

Her hair looks pretty in the loose, messy bun she’s thrown her wavy brown hair into, affixed by a light blue velvet scrunchie. 

He hates that he noticed.

He can’t stand her, but above all, he can’t stand that he can’t pretend he doesn’t notice how beautiful she is. Even now, dressed in a plain black turtleneck and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair all tousled from hours of writing, she still looks infuriatingly gorgeous in such a bafflingly effortless way. That’s why he can’t get any work done when she is in the room. That’s why he’s always up so late trying to finish Snoke’s impossible research assignments.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap._

And finally, after weeks of being driven almost insane by the incessant tapping of her pencil — amongst other things — he loses it. 

He pointedly swivels his chair around. 

“Jesus _Christ_ , for the thousandth time, can you PLEASE stop that goddamn _tapping_ , Miss Johnson,” he snaps.

Thoroughly flummoxed by this outburst, Rey aggressively hits the space bar on her laptop to pause her music and pointedly slams her headphones on the desk before turning her chair to face Ben.

“ _Excuse me_ ?” she spits, raising her voice. “I don’t like your tone, _Professor_.”

And she does not acquiesce to his request to stop tapping her pencil. Instead, she starts tapping even harder, staring him dead in the eyes.

He begins exasperatingly shoving his papers and his laptop into his briefcase.

“You know what? I can’t take it anymore. I cannot work in here with you tapping your _fucking pencil_ like that, Miss Johnson. I am going to the library,” he tells her.

“Mmm, perfect timing then, because I have about had it with your attitude, Professor Solo,” she snaps, standing up and folding her arms as she continues to give him that withering stare.

He takes another step towards her. His fist is clenched tightly around the handle of his briefcase. 

“You know what — “ she starts as she steps closer to him, but she’s so overcome with rage — and something else she can’t quite name — that she can’t seem to finish the sentence.

There are so many things she wants to say, so many things she loathes about him, like the stupid, ostentatious three-piece suits that he almost certainly has custom tailored to fit him. She hates the stupid suits because they remind her of the elitist, capitalist society he represents and worships, but above all she hates how _good_ he looks in those _stupid fucking suits_ , the way the buttons on his crisp white shirts strain against his broad and muscular chest, the tight line of the collar against his neck, the way she can’t help but notice how large his hands are when he fiddles with the cufflinks, and she _especially_ can’t stand the way her mind floods with images of all the things she wants him to do to her with those massive hands of his. 

She hates the way his stupid suits emphasize how frustratingly, undeniably _handsome_ he is with his striking features, his dark, brooding eyes, his thick, silken, raven colored hair, and he way it’s always tousled _just_ enough, and she wonders how many _stupid fucking hair products_ he has to use to get it to do that. She wonders if the stupid hair products contribute to how intoxicatingly, infuriatingly _good_ he smells, like mahogany and sandalwood and expensive aftershave. She could drown in that scent. She could drown in _him_. 

“What, Miss Johnson?” he counters sharply, taking another step toward her. They are standing very close now. She has never been this close to him before. He can see all the freckles on her face and the glimmers of green and gold in her hazel eyes, even as they burn with fury. He notices that she’s breathing heavily — he’s close enough to her that he can hear her labored breaths and see the way her shoulders rise and fall with the effort of it — as she continues to stare him down, seething with contempt. 

“You are the single most _vile_ , _insufferable_ person I have _ever_ had the misfortune of knowing, Professor Solo. You represent everything I hate in this world, and I bemoan _every fucking minute_ I have to spend with someone as _imperious_ and _patronizing_ and _loathsome_ as you,” she says, narrowing her eyes, her voice a low hiss.

“Mmm, that’s funny, Miss Johnson, because I feel _exactly_ the same way about having to share an office with the single most _naive_ , obnoxious, petty, and downright _obstinate_ human being I have _ever_ had the displeasure of interacting with,” he retorts. 

They’re both breathing heavily now and — is he imagining things? — she appears to be staring at his lips. 

They linger in the tense silence for a moment, the weight of their cruel words hanging heavy in the air, their strained, rapid breaths cutting through the quiet of the small office. 

And some inexplicable magnetic force seems to draw them closer to each other, until their faces are only inches apart. Why is she biting her lip like that? And why are his eyes now searching her face, until his gaze finally rests on her mouth? He never noticed before, but she has nice lips. So soft and delicate and pink and —

He barely registers what’s happening when she forcefully grabs his face and presses those soft, delicate, pink lips against his own. 

But there is nothing soft and delicate about the way she is kissing him, with her mouth open and her hands tugging at his hair, with the way their tongues seem to naturally entwine. He bites her lower lip as his hand engulfs the nape of her neck. A moan escapes from the back of her throat and images flash in his mind of all the things he wants to do to her, all the filthy thoughts he has been trying so desperately to ignore. 

But he can’t ignore them any longer when she is pressing up against him, and he wedges his knee between her thighs, pushing her back against her desk, making her gasp. 

“ _Professor_ ,” she bleats in a low, breathy tone, making his cock throb. And he desperately wants to be inside of her. To fuck her full of his cum. 

“Yes, Miss Johnson?” he replies, his voice a low grumble in her ear as she grinds up against him. 

“I want you to fuck me,” she says fiercely, looking him dead in the eyes.

“ _Miss Johnson,_ ” he chides, trailing kisses down her neck as she leans her head back to accommodate him, his hand finding its way to her thigh. “I am a professor and you’re a graduate student. We can’t —”

He pulls away suddenly, removing the large hand that exhilaratingly gripped her thigh, agonizingly tearing his lips away from her neck. She hates the way she whimpers at the loss of contact.

And as she reads the smug look on his face, she _especially_ hates that he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to her. He’s tormenting her. Teasing her.

She has never loathed him more.

“ _Please_ , Professor Solo,” she implores with wide, needy eyes. She slides off the desk and takes a step toward him. “Don’t you want to fuck me, professor? Haven’t you thought about bending me over my desk and thrusting your cock into my tight, wet cunt? I know you’ve thought about it. I know it turns you on when I call you _professor,”_ she looks him up and down as she licks her lips. _“_ It gets you off, doesn’t it... _professor_?” She adds, taking another step toward him as she emphasizes the last word. 

She looks up, biting her lower lip as she appraises him. His tall and broad and muscular figure towers over her. Her mouth twists into a crooked smirk. 

“Why do you think I say it so often, professor? You want to fuck me _precisely_ because I am a student and you are a professor, don’t you, Solo? You want to fuck me so badly you can’t _stand_ it.”

He furrows his brow and tilts his head, moving closer to her, his expression incredulous.

“And what, exactly, makes you think you can speak to a professor like that, Miss Johnson?”

Rey laughs disdainfully, shaking her head.

“Oh, _fuck you_ , professor,” she spits. “You love it. I bet you’re already leaking because you need to come so badly... aren’t you, professor?” She glances downward at the bulge in his pants. 

“Does it hurt to be that hard?” she asks him, not breaking eye contact as she reaches down and grasps the place where his cock is straining against his trousers. “Don’t you want me to make it better? Don’t you need me to make you come?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he manges through gritted teeth. “Turn around, Miss Johnson,” he adds suddenly and forcefully.

Rey grins. “That’s more like it, _professor_ ,” she says as she does what he asks, leaning against the desk. 

“You can’t talk to me like that, Miss Johnson,” he scolds in a commanding tone as his hands engulf her waist, pressing her against him, his lips brushing against her neck.

“I can’t? Well, what are you going to do about it, _professor_?” she teases, her head tilting slightly as she glances behind her.

He notices her black turtleneck is riding up slightly, exposing the flesh of her lower back, and seeing the way her dark skinny jeans hug her ass so perfectly as she bends over in front of him, elbows pressed to the desk, is a torment. 

He needs the stupid jeans to be off of her. 

“Take off your jeans,” he instructs her with a low growl.

Rey gasps.

“ _Yes_ , professor,” she replies obediently as she unbuttons and slides her jeans off of her lithe and slender legs. He notices she is wearing black, lacey panties. He snaps the elastic against her, and she moans. 

“Were you preparing for this, then, Miss Johnson?” he snarls. He leans forward so his lips are pressed against her ear. “You wanted to look sexy when you undressed for me?”

She whimpers and nods.

“How presumptuous and entitled of you, Miss Johnson. How _dare_ you just _assume_ that I want to fuck you,” he says as he slides her underwear down, letting it fall to her ankles. “How shall I punish you for being such a dirty little slut?”

Rey gasps again, unable to form words; she can’t think straight when he talks to her like this, when he talks to her in the way she has fantasized about so many times. 

“I asked you a question, Miss Johnson,” he rejoins. 

“Spank me, Professor Solo. I want you to spank me. _Please,”_ she replies, her voice strained with the anguish of desperate, forbidden desire. 

“Mmm, you _are_ a dirty girl, aren’t you Miss Johnson?” he spurs.

“Professor, _please_ ,” Rey whines.

“So demanding,” he growls, and then he does as she asks, smacking her ass so hard it echoes through the small office, eliciting a loud moan from Rey’s parted lips.

“Lower your voice, Miss Johnson,” he hisses.

“Professor Solo, _please_. I need you to touch me. I need you to make me come,” she clamors forlornly.

“Oh, is that what you want, Miss Johnson?” he murmurs. “You want me to touch you? Where do you want me to touch you, Miss Johnson?” 

“I need you to put your fingers inside of me, professor. _Please_ ,” she cries. She can’t stand how badly she needs him to touch her. How badly she has _been_ needing him to touch her.

He slides his hand between her legs, and she is already dripping down to her thighs.

  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he says as he glides a finger along her folds. “Why are you so fucking _wet_ , Miss Johnson? Have you been thinking about this? About me bending you over and fucking you over your desk?” 

Rey whimpers and nods again. 

“Such a dirty girl,” he murmurs against her ear. He slaps her ass again and she moans. “We’re going to get caught if you keep being that loud. Lower your _fucking voice,_ Miss Johnson.”

“Yes, sir,” Rey replies breathlessly, and then she gasps when he slides one, and then two fingers inside of her. 

“Oh my _god_ , you’re so _fucking_ tight, Miss Johnson,” he groans as he marvels at how perfect it feels to have his fingers inside of her. He _hates_ how fucking perfect it feels to have his fingers inside of her perfect tight, wet, throbbing little cunt. He starts fucking her with her fingers, covering her mouth when she starts moaning too loudly again.

“You can’t help yourself when I’m fucking you, can you, Miss Johnson? Can’t help but moan so _fucking_ loudly the whole _fucking_ department is going to hear you because I’m fucking you so good?”

“No one— “ she gasps as she feels him thrusting his fingers deeper into her. “No one — is — even here this late, professor,” she points out between panting breaths.

“I wasn’t asking for your input, Miss Johnson,” he says sharply.

“S— _ah_ —sorry, _sir_ ,” she replies, barely getting the words out as he brings her closer and closer to the release she so desperately needs. And then, excruciatingly, he withdraws his fingers. 

“ _Professor_ ,” she whimpers. “Please don’t stop.”

“I want to feel you come with my cock inside of you,” he tells her. “I want to feel your pretty little cunt clench around my cock when I make you come.”

Rey groans. “ _Fuck_ , professor.” 

Ben begins unfastening his belt, when a realization dawns on him.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” Rey asks, looking over her shoulder at him. 

“I don’t exactly make a habit of bringing condoms with me to my office,” he remarks. 

“I’m on birth control and I’m clean,” she tells him.

“I’m clean, too.”

“So what are you waiting for then, professor?”

He makes short work of undoing his belt, letting it fall to the floor, as Rey watches him. He can practically feel the heat of her gaze as her eyes hungrily scan every inch of him. 

“Turn around,” he instructs her when his pants and boxers have been removed. 

“Mmmm, yes sir,” she replies, doing as she’s told. 

She gasps as she feels his large hands envelop either side of her waist, and a deep, guttural moan escapes from the back of her throat when she feels him sliding inside of her. He’s so _big_ and she wonders how he even manages to fit. 

She hates how good it feels to be filled by his massive cock. He thrusts into her, his hands gripping tightly at her sides as he moas into her ears.

“I want it harder. Fuck me harder, professor,” she instructs, and he obeys, desperately thrusting his hips as he fucks up into her, each thrust producing an intoxicatingly filthy, wet sound. 

“Fuck,” Rey groans. “ _Fuck_ , that feels good.”

“Mmm, you like that, Miss Johnson?” he goads as he forcefully slaps her ass again. She moans and it is a desperate, feral sound.

“I’m so close,” she tells him. “ _Please_ don’t stop, professor.”

He increases the pace with which he fucks her even more.

“Fuck, _FUCK_ ,” Rey gasps. “ _Fuck_ , I’m coming.”

A high pitched whimper blossoms from her parted lips as she climaxes, and Ben moans and presses himself as deep into her as he can as he fills her, fingernails digging into the exposed flesh of her waist, and she revels in the electrifying sensation. 

They linger for a moment, bodies still entwined as the weight of what has just transpired passes over them. The silence is tense and awkward as Ben withdraws himself from her and begins dressing himself. 

Rey straightens out her hair as she slides her panties and her jeans back on, still facing away from him.

“This can’t happen again, you know that, right?” she says quietly without turning around. 

“Of course not,” Ben replies blandly.

Rey clears her throat.

“Right then,” she says. “I will see you tomorrow,” she manages as she slides her backpack onto one shoulder. 

She brusquely pushes past him without making eye contact, eager to get to the door, to leave this stupid fucking office, and to forget this stupid, _stupid,_ idiotic, _reckless_ mistake ever even happened. 


	7. Chapter 7

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**Later that week, Rey is apparently worried about "flu season."**

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**Rey's Spotify feed is not subtle**

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**T he official group chat of the Rey And Professor Solo Are Secretly Fucking Conspiracy Theory Club**

** (they need a shorter name) (also, Kaydel’s POV, ofc) **

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**Meanwhile, Rey's Spotify feed**

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	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning for emotional abuse in the conversation between Snoke and Ben**

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**Meanwhile**

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**Rey's Spotify feed**

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**Friday Night**

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**Rey stop being cryptic on social media challenge**

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**On Monday, the simulation glitches again**

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	9. Chapter 9

**Friday night**

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**Rey is very very very drunk**

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	10. Chapter 10

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Professor Solo has been acting strangely lately.

For example, when he enters the office in the morning, he usually mutters a reluctant _Miss Johnson_ through gritted teeth, if he bothers to greet her at all.

Which is why it strikes her as odd to hear him say “Good morning, Rey.”

“Uh...hi, professor,” she mutters, giving him a quizzical sidelong glance.

They haven’t been getting much work done in the office for a while now, but Rey is particularly distracted today, trying to make sense of Professor Solo’s unusual behavior. Maybe he’s met a girl he actually likes, and that has put him in a good mood. Whatever, good for him. It’s not like she cares if he’s seeing anyone else. Their arrangement is meaningless, there’s no rules, no strings attached to it. Eventually the tension gets the better of them and they end up fucking, but that’s it. That’s all it is.

She’s tapping her pencil again now. And popping her gum. And typing too loudly. 

“You know, Rey,” Professor Solo starts to say, turning his chair around. “You could just _tell_ me when you want me to fuck you instead of trying to provoke me.”

Rey pops her gum again and smirks, continuing to tap her pencil as she holds his gaze. 

“Oh, but it’s just so much more _fun_ this way, professor,” she teases. “And besides,” she adds, standing up and walking towards him, “What would you have to punish me for, then, professor?” She asks with wide, batting eyes, as she sits on his lap.

“That is an excellent point, Miss Johnson,” he says, his voice a low grumble as he begins trailing kisses down her neck. He tugs at her hair forcefully. “What am I going to do with you for being such a dirty little slut? Trying to provoke me just so I’ll fuck you. Stand up and turn around, Miss Johnson,” he tells her, and she obliges, bending over the desk like she always does, willing and eager to receive her punishment. He spanks her just as hard as she likes it and it takes considerable effort for her to be quiet, but it’s 9 o’clock on a Monday morning, so she tries to restrain herself. 

He does another odd thing then. Instead of demanding that she take her pants off, she feels him wrapping his arms around her, his hands gentle and affectionate as he runs them up and down her torso, placing gentle kisses on her neck. She feels him tugging at the bottom of her shirt, and she lifts up her arms as he slides it off of her. He lets his fingertips delicately trace the fabric of her light pink lace bralette.

“This is pretty,” he murmurs against her ear. 

He is acting _very_ weird. 

He gingerly tugs at the delicate fabric of the bralette and pulls it over her head.

“Turn around,” he says softly. 

Rey is not entirely sure what’s happening here. They never face each other when they fuck, and he’s never actually seen her without a bra on. 

She doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her, almost like there’s something other than lust glimmering in his maddening dark eyes as he takes her in, eyes scanning every inch of her in a way that makes her blush. It occurs to her that it’s almost like _savoring_ her instead of devouring her this time.

He kisses her neck, his hand engulfing one of her breasts and she closes her eyes so she can focus less on who is doing this to her and more on how good it feels to have his full, pink mouth pressed up against her flesh. She can’t help but whimper when he takes one of her breasts into his mouth as he delicately teases the other with his fingertips. The way he gently suckles at her, swirling delicate, intoxicating circles with his tongue as he gently works her other breast with his fingers feels so different from the way he has laid waste to her neck so many times, leaving bruises and bite marks that she had to keep her winter scarf on all the time to hide. When she feels him take her other breast into his mouth, beginning the same slow, gentle, affectionate suckling, she realizes he is... _taking his time_ with her. 

He’s never done that before.

But this isn’t the first time things have felt a little off, either. His hands have been increasingly more soft and gentle when they kiss and he caresses her cheeks, when his fingertips gently course through her hair, when he gingerly pulls her in by her waist. 

It scares her.

She feels him sliding his hand between her legs and she gasps.

“ _Fuck_ , I can’t take it anymore, please just fuck me, professor,” she tells him, but really she just wants an excuse to be facing away from him again already. She slides her jeans and her panties off and positions herself in front of his desk.

“Excuse me, but _I_ decide when it’s time for us to fuck, Miss Johnson,” he tells her, pulling on her hair and making her whimper. “You’ll need to be punished for that.”

_That’s more like it_ , she thinks to herself as she feels him spanking her so hard she knows he’ll leave marks. And that’s exactly how she wants this, whatever _this_ is, to be. 

There is something cold and impersonal about their arrangement, and she likes it that way. When she is bent over her desk she can just close her eyes and focus on how good it feels to be filled by him, and he could be anyone. 

And it feels so _perfect_ , _he_ feels so perfect, she thinks to herself as she feels him sliding inside of her. No one has ever fucked her so perfectly.

But that’s beside the point. 

She feels his lips, so soft and delicious against her neck, and he’s not digging his nails into her waist this time. The way he holds her now is different. Every time they fuck he has been growing more tender with her; when they fuck now it is not as aggressive and desperate and hungry as it once was. He is gentler with her. Instead of devouring her, he savors her. He is less forceful and more affectionate.

And she tells herself she hates it, but that is a lie, because the worst part of it all is that she _likes_ when he is this way with her. Which doesn’t make any sense, because she can’t stand him. The way they fucked before made so much more sense; it was emotionless and detached and aggressive, and it made it much easier for her to keep her feelings at bay.

But Professor Solo _has_ been acting _very strangely_ lately. 

And it scares her to death. 

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**Rey's Spotify feed**

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Rey is the last one at the office again. She’s finally pushed through her writer’s block, and she’s been fervently and desperately trying to get the words on paper.

It’s dark in the office; she doesn’t like the fluorescent overhead lights on at light, and only the warm glow of her desk lamp cuts through the darkness. 

When she finally packs up her backpack and gets ready to leave, she notices some papers sticking out of the second drawer on Professor Solo’s desk, as if he had shoved them in there in a desperate rush. 

Curiosity gets the best of her and she opens the drawer. 

As she does this, a set of multicolored calligraphy pens topple out along with the papers.

She gingerly picks up the papers, brow furrowed as her eyes scan the pages.

They’re poems. And drawings. In elegantly sculpted calligraphic script.

And the poems all describe the same person, someone with freckles and chestnut hair and ‘hazel eyes that transfigure’ and ‘a smile like sunflowers in August.’

_Holy. Shit._

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	11. Chapter 11

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When Rey arrives in the office, Ben immediately jumps to his feet. His eyes are puffy and swollen and it looks like he didn’t get any sleep.

“Rey, I—I’m so sorry, I was being an idiot, as usual,” he stammers.

“Are—are you okay, Ben?” she asks, taking in his disheveled appearance. 

“I— I need to tell you something,” he manages, ignoring her question.

She can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt her to see him so torn up. Part of her wants to make it better, to take him in her arms and tell him it’s okay. But she can’t bring herself to, and she hates herself for it.

“I just — I don’t understand you. One moment you hate me, the next you’re telling me I’m cute and making sure I’m okay when I’m hungover and leaving your jacket around my shoulders so I wouldn’t be cold, and then I find out you’ve been writing poetry, the most beautiful poetry about me, and you push me away again. It doesn’t make any sen—”

“I love you,” he blurts out suddenly.

They stand in stunned silence for a moment. Rey’s bewilderment is evident in the way she scrunches up her brow. 

“Excuse me?” she finally says quietly, breaking the tense silence.

“Rey, I love you so much. I don’t even know when it started, just that at some point I couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way you love to torment me, the smell of your perfume, the way your face lights up when you laugh, the way you dedicate yourself so completely to your writing. I don’t think I ever even really hated you, Rey. I just,” he shakes his head. ”And you’re the last person on Earth I ever imagined myself falling for, I mean, God, you’re pursuing an MFA in creative writing of all things when you have such a brilliant mind, but I don’t care, because I love you.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, regret is evident on his face.

“Wait. That — that came out wrong. I — I didn’t mean —”

It is all Rey can do not to let the tears flooding in her eyes spill over.

“Fuck you, Benjamin Solo,” she chokes out, suppressing a sob. “God, I wish I never even met you. I thought — I thought maybe you’d changed, but you’re still that same smug, condescending bastard I met all the way back in January. How dare you tell me you love me even though my career choice, the thing I love most of all, is beneath you, apparently. And you’re such a fucking hypocrite, too, now that I know you’re also a writer. So have fun with your stupid soul sucking capitalist bullshit, even though I know you don’t even want to live that life. I know you’re fucking miserable and you’ve been wanting to tell Snoke off and pursue your writing for real. But you know what, you deserve the life you’ve chosen. I’m going to request that office change. Please delete my number. I never want to hear from you again, Professor Solo.”

“Sweetheart, please, I’m so sorry, I’m an idiot, I didn’t mean — I shouldn’t have said — I was just trying to —”

“I am not your _sweetheart_ , Ben. Go fuck yourself,” she spits. “I’ll come gather the rest of my things later when you’re in class. Good-bye, Professor Solo.”

And with that, she storms back out as quickly as she had come in, slamming the door behind her. 

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**Rey's Spotify feed :(**

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**Rey is currently listening to :(**

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	12. Chapter 12




	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning for emotional abuse in the texts between Snoke and Ben**

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**But Rey's Spotify feed tells a different story...**

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	14. Chapter 14




	15. Chapter 15

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**Rey is Going Through It**

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**The return of Rey's drunk texting**

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**KayRose is canon!**

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**To back track To back track slightly, this was Sunday morning when Rey first woke up after drunk texting Ben**

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	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warnings for this chapter**  
>  _Topics that come up in Rey and Ben's conversation include mentions of:_  
>  -Substance abuse  
> -Emotional abuse  
> -Self harm  
> -Suicidal ideation  
> -Childhood abandonment and neglect

Ben’s apartment is not at all what Rey was expecting.

She had pictured something cold and dark, with lots of black leather and stainless steel. But she is surprised to find his apartment is colorful and cozy, albeit in a West Elm showroom kind of way. There is a very cohesive design scheme like something out of a magazine and she wonders if he hired an interior decorator to help design the space, or if he just has a knack for this sort of thing.

The walls are adorned with paintings in various sizes with different frames. She notices Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers”, her favorite painting, is a focal point of the living room. And, most notably, she sees that he has dozens of shelves lined with well-loved books. And they aren’t business textbooks; they are novels and poems. Rey spots many of her own favorites amidst his collection, and she hopes she will have the chance to explore his extensive library at some point.

The living room is outfitted with a large, deep red oriental rug and a mid-century style coffee table where his calligraphy set rests, along with a journal and several more books haphazardly stacked on top of one another, including the E. E. Cummings book Rey had found in the office that day. 

When she kisses him, she realizes how much she has missed him, even if she just saw him on Friday morning; after being apart for 2 months, it feels like they have so much lost time to catch up on. 

“Your apartment is different than I imagined it would be,” she tells him. 

“It’s changed a lot recently,” he explains. “This was originally just a place for me to crash closer to school, but I’ve been spending more time here since I decided to put my other place on the market. This apartment was pretty dull and bland, but I wanted it to be more reflective of the life I want to live and the person I want to be.”

He nervously shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the patterns on the rug, leaning back on his heels.

“And I admit, I couldn’t help but wonder what you might like, because I wanted this to be a place you would enjoy spending time in, too — that is, if you ended up deciding you wanted to give me another chance at all,” he looks up at her with a sheepish smile. “And I remember you had a journal with Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’ on the cover, and that’s why I picked that particular piece of art for my living room.”

A broad smile lights up Rey’s face as she stands on her tip-toes to kiss him again.

“I love it,” she says. “It’s perfect. And I love _you_ — even if you are a one percenter,” she adds with a sly smirk.

Ben chuckles.

“Can you find it in your heart to love me despite committing such an unforgivable offense?” he says teasingly as he steps towards her and brushes her hair behind her ear. 

“ _Well_ , seeing as you _are_ trying to rectify such an unforgivable offense and attempting to redistribute your sizable fortune to things that will benefit the greater good, I think I could possibly consider it,” she says with a playful smile. 

She notices he is dressed casually again, this time in a navy blue sweater and jeans, and she’s still not used to seeing him outside of his typical business formal attire. But she likes this version of Ben, with his sweaters and his paintings and his shy smile. 

When she kisses him again she begins to think about how, as much as she likes his sweater, she would prefer if it were on the floor, but they have things to discuss first. 

They sit down on his big, teal velvet couch. It is a remarkably comfortable couch, Rey notes, and she’d much rather just lie here wrapped up in his arms and not have to think about having difficult conversations. 

He must sense her unease.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” he murmurs, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“So much,” she admits finally, her gaze fixed somewhere past Ben, her voice small and quiet. “I don’t even know where to begin.” 

He runs his hand up and down her arm soothingly. 

“You don’t have to tell me everything right now,” he reassures her. “But there is one thing I’ve been dying to ask you about for months now.”

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Your novel. What’s it about?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Rey smiles. “You mentioned that in your letter. Well,” she takes a deep breath, “I don’t usually talk to people about my writing, save for Professor Holdo, she’s the only one who knows what my novel is about. And it has actually changed quite a lot over these past couple of months, but, um — I never would’ve told you this back in February, because I assumed you would have mocked me for it, but I, um — I write romance novels — you probably think that’s stupid, don’t you?”

Ben looks confused that she would even suggest such a thing.  
  


“Of course I don’t think it’s stupid,” he replies. “It’s not stupid at all. Tell me more about your romance novels, Rey,” he implores her, his voice soft and reassuring, eyes warm and affectionate. 

“Well,” Rey takes a deep breath, “I write romance novels because I need to believe in happily-ever-afters. Because—” She closes her eyes as she draws in another slow breath. 

“When your parents dump you in foster care because they would rather get high than give a shit about their daughter’s well being, when your foster parents — and there have been so many, I’ve lost count — see you more as a source of free labor than as an actual human being and remind you at every possible turn that your parents abandoned you because you were worthless and unlovable, when you barely have time to enjoy university or make any friends because you have to spend every free hour working just to pay your way you just — you need to know that things could get better. You need to believe that it’s possible that someone could love you. That you don’t always have to be alone. That’s why I need these stories, that’s why I need to write — it’s the only thing that makes me feel less alone. And the thing is, I’ve been so used to being ignored and tossed aside that even those first few days in the office, even when you were driving me insane, you never ignored me, not once, and at least when I was in that office I wasn’t all alone.”

Rey is fully crying now, and she lets Ben wrap his arms around her as the sobs rattle her body. He holds her tight and still, even now, she has to fight the urge to bolt straight out the door, but she doesn’t. She stays. She lets him hold her, even though she feels a familiar tightness tugging at her chest as her fears threaten to get the best of her again.

“That’s why I got so weird and distant on Friday,” Rey admits, in hopes that saying the words out loud will dull the pain. “Everything kind of caught up to me; the letter, the poem, the sizable donation, which, incidentally, reminded me that we come from such different worlds and made me uncomfortable that you could just casually drop $5,000 like it’s nothing. And then I just started spiraling and I went from feeling so happy to completely torn up because all I could think about was how much this was going to hurt when you eventually come to your senses and leave me.”

“Rey,” Ben says firmly. “First of all, I want to apologize for making you uncomfortable with the donation. It didn’t even occur to me that it could seem like too much, because as you said, $5,000 isn’t a big deal for me, but I should be more mindful that it _is_ a big deal to you, and I completely understand why that would make you feel uncomfortable.”

He takes a deep breath to prepare for what he is going to say next.

“And Rey, I don’t want you to be afraid that I am going to leave you. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere, and, in fact, I constantly wonder when _you_ will come to your senses and leave me. But I’ve been going to counseling and trying to unlearn all the lies Snoke planted in my mind, including and especially the lie that I don’t deserve to be loved. I think it will take a long time for me to stop believing that. But Rey...you have...you have no _idea_ what you’ve done to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You got me writing again. You got me to finally cut Snoke out of my life. Hell, you even got me to apply for Columbia’s MFA program — which I haven’t mentioned yet, I had been waiting for the right moment to tell you — I’ve been dying to tell you.”

“Ben, that’s _amazing,”_ Rey gently presses her lips against his. “Benjamin Solo, getting a degree in fairy tales. Will wonders never cease?”

Ben narrows his eyes in mock frustration at her teasing.

“Speaking of fairy tales, you told me you write love stories because you need to believe in happily ever afters after everything you’ve been through. And I get that. It makes perfect sense. But is it so hard to believe you could have a happily-ever-after in real life?”

“Yes,” Rey says sharply. “But...I’m starting to possibly rethink that stance,” she adds with a timid smile at Ben.

  
“Thank you for sharing all of that with me, Rey,” he says softly. “I know it must have been extremely difficult for you. And it breaks my heart to know you went through all of that,” his voice cracks as he says this, and she looks up and realizes he is starting to cry. “You really are the bravest person I’ve ever met. And... the _strongest_ person I’ve ever met. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you. I’m so sorry anyone ever made you feel like you don’t deserve to be loved, Rey, and I’m so glad I could make you feel less alone, because you’ve made me feel less alone, too; you’re the first person to make me believe maybe I deserve to be loved, too.”

“Ben, of course you deserve to be loved,” Rey says fiercely before grabbing his face and kissing his lips. “But...” she pulls away and pauses, thinking. “Didn’t people, like, _worship_ you when you were CEO of First Order Enterprises, and even when you were a professor at NYU?”

“Being worshipped is not the same thing as being loved,” Ben points out. “And even though I was constantly surrounded by people who would do anything for me, I always felt alone, because I didn’t have any meaningful relationships with anyone. I guess the closest thing I had to a meaningful relationship was with Snoke — I’ve known him since I was a freshman in college. I never told you this, but I actually studied English at a state college as an undergrad. I had to take a business course as an elective, and Snoke was teaching the class.”

“You studied English at a state university?” Rey shakes her head, surprised. “I always assumed you had studied business at an Ivy League school.” 

“I’m lucky I even got into the state school, with the way my grades were in high school,” Ben admits.

“And I was...very vulnerable and lonely when I started college... I, well, —” 

He pauses and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“When I was in middle school, I started experiencing major depressive episodes that were so bad my parents didn’t know what to do with me. They were afraid to leave me alone because they were scared I was going to hurt myself, and they just didn’t know how to handle a severely mentally ill child, so when I was around 10, they had me sent to a group home for troubled youth. I was allowed to call them on the phone, but I was so angry and felt so hurt and abandoned that I never did.”

“Oh my god, Ben. That’s horrible,” Rey takes his hand and intertwines it with hers. He responds with a grateful squeeze. 

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs softly. 

His eyes meet hers, and there is a deep gratitude in his expression. 

“But even throughout all this,” he continues, “I always had writing — writing poetry helped keep me sane. The thoughts swirling in my brain felt less scary when I could get them out on paper. So that’s why I became an English major when I somehow got into college, despite everything.”

He tells her all about Snoke, and how he made Ben believe he was wasting his time studying “fairy tales.” He tells her how Snoke convinced him if he pursued business, he would finally achieve happiness.

“He told me it would make my parents proud of me, and everyone would love me, and I wouldn’t feel the sadness I felt as a kid ever again as long as I stuck with him,” Ben says ruefully. “Anyway, after I got my MBA and painstakingly climbed the ranks at First Order and I became CEO, I thought that, finally, I would find the happiness that Snoke had promised me all those years ago. But I was more miserable than ever. I could have anything I could ever imagine with the snap of my fingers, but I was still completely and utterly alone. And I loathed the person I had to become to get that far up the corporate ladder. I knew just how morally bankrupt my career choices were — you once asked me how I could sleep at night with the choices I had made. The answer was I just... didn’t sleep.”

A pained expression crosses Rey’s face at this revelation. She is still clasping Ben’s hand tightly with both of her hands, holding his gaze with rapt attention. 

“I decided to go back to school and get my Ph.D. in management,” Ben continues, “I had hoped a teaching career would be less soul-sucking. But with Snoke as the Chair of the business department, he pushed me even harder than he had as an undergrad. He told me I was weak and that’s why my parents didn’t love me. And when I got the adjunct position, Snoke still had me working my ass off doing these nonsense research projects that he definitely didn’t even really need me to do, he just wanted another way to torture me.”

Rey takes a moment to process all of this new information. 

“Ben,” she says softly, letting her fingertips graze his cheek. He leans into her touch and his eyes briefly drift shut as he relishes in it. 

“I... love you so much and it hurts me so much to know you went through all that, you have no idea how much it hurts me,” her voice breaks as she says this. “I — I want to fucking _kill_ Snoke for what he did to you. I can’t believe he ever made you feel like you don’t deserve to be loved or to be happy. Now I understand why you acted the way you did when I first met you. And I hate that you were so miserable and suffering all alone for so long. But I hope you know that you’re not alone now, Ben.”

Ben brushes her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Neither are you, Rey,” he says quietly. 

“And, you know,” he continues, “I was thinking about what you said, about how being in that office with me made you feel less alone. And the thing is, back then I was surrounded by people _constantly_ , both when I was CEO at First Order, and as a business professor at NYU. But it was always just people numbly saying ‘Yes, Mr. Solo, whatever you say, Mr. Solo.’ And then I met this woman who, within 2 minutes of meeting me, told me to ‘piss off’, and I was immediately smitten, even if I didn’t realize it at the time,” he looks up and smiles at Rey as he says this. 

“I think I had been going through life sort of half-asleep, on autopilot, and for the first time, you woke me up,” he adds softly, eyes tinged with tears again.

“Ben...” she says again, quietly and tenderly and with fierce adoration.

And then she kisses him, softly and slowly and tenderly letting her lips and her tongue intertwine with his again and again, tasting him, savoring him, because it is the only way she knows how to respond when he says such lovely things to her, and because she wants him to _feel_ that he is not alone anymore. She wants him to know how much she loves him, even if it scares her to death. She feels his hands, those gentle hands, softly running his fingers through her hair and then so slowly, so, _so_ delicately and worshipfully making their way from her neck to her back as he rubs gentle, affectionate circles against the fabric of her purple cardigan and, finally, lets his hands find their way to her waist, pulling her nearer to him. 

And after such a long time spent so painfully and palpably without his presence, she longs more than ever to be close to him, to relish in the way the sharp ache in her chest seems to dull with each caress from his loving hands. 

Now more than ever, she’s starting to believe he might be someone worth finally being brave for.

No matter how much it scares her. Especially now that she knows he is just as scared as she is, and he has been _so_ brave for her, so beautifully declaring his love for her to the entire university with his exquisite poetry. The least she can do is try her best not to push him away. To try to trust him. She knows it will take time, but she’s never even been willing to _try_ with someone at all. And that’s certainly a start.

She watches his dark eyes dance hungry yet adoring circles across every inch of her. And she has never wanted him more.

“I need you, Ben,” she murmurs against his ear. “Please touch me, Ben. I need you to make me come.”

A low, desperate moan escapes from the back of his throat at these words as he pulls her onto his lap. She feels his knee pressing up against her and naturally begins to move against it, his eyes remaining fixed on hers with deep resolve. She feels her face flushing hot at the intensity of his gaze.

“ _Fuck_ , Ben,” she whimpers. “That feels so good. You always make me feel so good.”

She feels him trailing kisses down her neck and suckling at her pulse and she moans as his hands find their way to her breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, his voice raspy and almost strained as his eyes meet hers again.

“Ben,” she replies, her eyes fixed on his as she presses herself harder against him, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he runs his hands up and down her torso before tugging at her shirt. She quickly obliges, sliding off her cardigan and pulling her t-shirt over her head, letting both fall to the floor. 

“So beautiful,” he echoes again at the sight of her in just her black lace bra and dark jeans, her hair falling in gentle waves to her shoulders. His fingertips brush against her cheek, and he trails them down across her neck as she leans back to accommodate his touch, relishing in the delicious, electric sensation of his skin against hers. He kisses her lips, her forehead, the bridge of her nose and both of her cheeks.

“I want to do this properly for once,” he murmurs. “Let me take you to bed, sweetheart.”

***

Ben is half convinced he is dreaming when he sees her spread out in his bed, chestnut waves spread out on his white sheets, cheeks flushed pink and lips all swollen. She’s still wearing her bra and her jeans. He will have to fix that.

“Take this off,” he instructs her, tugging at her bra strap.

Rey nods, biting her lower lip in that way that drives him wild.

“Yes, sir,” she replies obediently, suppressing a smirk.

And _oh_ she is _so_ beautiful, bathed in the low, warm light of his bedroom, her hazel eyes growing dark but still glimmering with those stunning flecks of gold and green. His lips find her neck, and she smells intoxicating, that sweet honey-vanilla scent of hers, and he wants to drown in every inch of her.

He still remembers that first day she had let him take her bra off in the office. He remembers the delicate pink lace fabric of the bra and how it felt against his fingertips, and he remembers thinking he had never seen anything quite so beautiful as her breasts, small and shapely and dusky with delicate splatters of freckles, those lovely freckles of hers that he adores so much. 

He loves the way her nipples get hard when he teases them with his fingertips and the way each breast fits so perfectly in his mouth. He especially loves the way she moans and writhes when he suckles on them.

She is still wearing her jeans, and that will have to change. He lets his hands gingerly glide down her thighs, rubbing up against the dark denim fabric, and she begins fussing with the button, trying to undo it.

“Let me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, unfastening the button and sliding the zipper down and then pulling the jeans off of her. 

He trails kisses from her belly button to her thighs, and then he slides her panties off because he needs to feel her, to touch her, to taste her.

He lets his fingertips brush against her folds and — _oh_ — she is already so wet. She whimpers at his touch, and it makes him crave her even more.

“You’re always so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice keening with appreciation, and she moans.

“ _Fuck_ , Ben,” she chokes out, desperately gripping at his bed sheets. 

In that office, she only ever let him fuck her when she was bent over his desk, faced away from him. She was insistent about it. She never wanted to make eye contact.

She didn’t know how he always longed to taste her, to savor her, to make her come again and again with his tongue lapping at her cunt. 

But he felt selfish and greedy for such desires; he felt incredibly grateful, _privileged_ even, that she would even let him touch her at all, that he was allowed to fuck her and feel her perfect cunt, always so tight and wet and perfect as it clenched around his cock. He always longed to see her face when she came for him, and he often fantasized about how beautiful she must look when she comes. But she would never show that to him.

But now, things are different between them. So very different. 

In those days in that office, he had come to accept, however sorrowfully, that what they shared meant something different to her than it did to him, and that he was foolish for wanting anything more than the clear cut arrangement they had.

Until now.

Now she is spread out in his bed, and she is so beautiful, her eyes worshipful and adoring as she gazes down at him, and it is more than he could have ever hoped for even in his wildest fantasies.

“Rey,” he rasps desperately. “Let me go down on you. Let me taste you. _Please_ , sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Yes, Ben, I want that. I _need_ that.”

  
And that is more than enough encouragement for him to bury his face in her the way he has so longed to and she tastes and feels even more perfect than he could have ever imagined. Warm and sweet and _perfect,_ just like her. 

He groans as he feels her tugging at his hair while he explores her with his tongue.

He could do this forever if she’d let him.

“ _Ben_ ,” the sound of his name escaping her lips, so breathless and thick with desire, snaps him out of his reverie. 

“Ben, _fuck_ , that feels so perfect — _Ben_ — nothing has _ever_ felt so _perfect—_ ” Her words descend into whimpers as she grinds against his face and he groans. 

“ _Fuck_ — I’m — I’m so close, Ben. That’s so perfect. Please — don’t stop —”

She shrieks when he slides two fingers inside of her, his tongue still swirling delicate circles around her clit. He feels her cunt clenching around his fingers as she comes, an approximation of his name bleating out from her lips, and as he watches her come, it’s more beautiful than anything he could have ever imagined.

He kisses the inside of her thigh and she whimpers.

“Ben,” she says softly, sighing contentedly. “ _Ben_ , you’re so good at that. Fuck.”

A wolfish smile spreads across his lips as she says this to him. 

“You’re so beautiful when you come for me, Rey,” he tells her. 

He can see that she is blushing when he says this to her, freckled cheeks going adorably rosy-pink. He smiles and sits up so his face meets hers and then he kisses those adorably flushed freckled cheeks, before kissing her lips.

She pulls away slightly and looks annoyed. 

“ _Benjamin Solo_ , why do you still have all of your clothes on?” she asks.

He chuckles. “I, uh— got a bit distracted.”

“Well, how am I supposed to fuck you with all this clothing on, Benjamin?” she teases as she begins tugging at his belt. He quickly slides his sweater over his head and gasps as he feels Rey unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He pulls his jeans off the rest of the way, and then his underwear, and then they are both finally, completely naked.

Rey’s slight but nimble hands find their way to his cock and he groans, a low, desperate sound emanating from deep within his chest, as she encircles her hands around his length and begins stroking him.

“ _Fuck_ , Rey,” his voice is intoxicatingly low and ragged in her ear.

“Will you come for me, Ben?” she asks, her eyes wide with desire.

“I want to come inside of you, sweetheart. I need to,” he tells her, desperation evident in his voice.

“Oh, well, in that case —” 

She guides his cock toward her entrance and gasps when she feels him slide into her. She is already so slick with wet from her first orgasm.

She is struck by how intimate it is to be in his private space, to be spread out on his bed, his reverent, worshipful eyes locked on hers. It’s a sharp contrast to the way they used to desperately fuck against the side of her desk, her body faced away from his so she could foolishly try to imagine it was someone, anyone else, desperate to ignore her growing feelings for this person she had sworn to hate.

But now, she wouldn’t want this with anyone but him. She used to hate how no one else ever fucked her as perfectly as he does; now she relishes in it.

And, _oh_ , it is even better like this, in his bed, his large, muscular frame engulfing her, the feeling of his body, warm and sweat-slicked pressed against hers, the familiarly intoxicating sound of his moans in her ears, but now there is something else, too — there is the heat of his adoring gaze staring so unrelentingly into her eyes. This is why she didn’t want to fuck him like this. The overwhelming intimacy of it scares her, and she feels that tightness in her chest again.

But the sound of his voice makes it melt away again.

“Fuck, Rey, your pretty little cunt always feels so tight around my cock. So perfect,” he grumbles against her ear, his breath hot against her neck. “Always so wet for me, such a good girl.”

She gasps as these sinful words leave his lips and she starts canting her hips more desperately against him as she moans his name. 

“Are you going to say my name when you come?” he asks as he thrusts up deeper into her, making her writhe and groan.

She bites her lip as she breathes out another strangled moan. “Yes, sir.”

Ben smiles playfully.

“Good girl. You know I love when you say my name when I make you come.”

She whimpers again, her hands running up and down the length of his back as she tries to press him in deeper still.

She presses her mouth against his, and she can feel him moaning against her lips, and it is an intoxicating, electric sensation.

“I’m—” she gasps. “ _Fuck_ , I’m so close, Ben.”

Their eyes meet again with a fierce intensity and resolve evident in their expressions.

He starts rubbing circles on her clit with his thumb and she shrieks.

“Oh, Ben, that’s so perfect, _fuck_ ,” she whimpers. “I missed this so much. I missed _you_ so much. I’ve been needing you so badly. Needed you to touch me — missed you touching me — I missed — _you_ —”

Rey realizes there are tears in her eyes now but she doesn’t do anything to try to stop them. She just lets Ben kiss them away and then the world disappears in a shocking flash of white when he makes her come and nothing and no one has ever made her feel more perfect than she does in that moment.

Like she is complete. Like she is whole.

Like she is not alone. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Rey is currently listening to:**

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	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing cover for Rey's novel was made by the endlessly talented [Lena!](http://twitter.com/bensoloswhore)

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**TWO YEARS LATER**

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**And of course we need an update on these queens**

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**And they lived happily ever after❤️**

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [ Twitter!](http://twitter.com/darthswift13) I post a lot of social media fics like this over there :-)


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